In Rajasthan, a woman and her daughters hug a Khejri tree, before being axed to death together.

In Uttaranchal, an old woman hugs an ash tree, as loggers wait to cut it down.

In Kerala, a tribal woman hugs the last tree alive; cries over a burning forest.

At home, my aunt hugs a Moringa tree, which still bears the weight of her childhood.

Peace, resistance, and nostalgia

We are in a hurry to give names to describe what women feel;

but sometimes, a woman comes to a tree in a moment of loneliness,

away from thankless husbands, children and rulers of the land, who tell them their place is inside.

published in Bengaluru Review, June 2020